“Where is My Child?”
Reflections from the Executive Director, Ken Druck, PhD
The question, “Where is my child?” is one and the same as “What is the nature of this life?”
Our instincts lead us to continue the search for our children long after we have held their broken bodies, scattered their ashes, or laid them to rest in the earth. From the time they are born, our parental radar-tracking device is activated. It does not shut down when our children no longer draw breath. Our desire to stay connected to them is no less powerful. While our children are alive, we could not find peace until we knew where they were and that they were safe. Now we look to spiritual and inner guidance to understand where they are. We search for loopholes in time and space where we can be with them.
Living in the mystery of their death requires that we call upon more than traditional understandings of life and death and that we use more than our five senses. Paradoxically, we “sense” their presence and their absence. We say, “my child is dead”, yet they live on within us and in what some parents describe as a spiritual realm. Regardless of our faith, our minds and hearts scan the universe for signs of them; in sunsets, birds, flowers, and in anything that holds special meaning for us. Yearning for reconnection, and yet questioning life’s grand plan, we map out our best case scenarios for “life after life”. One minute, we find ourselves staring into the abyss, brokenhearted and hopeless. The next, we are finding some peace and a thread of reassurance that their spirit somehow lives on.
Are these the deliberations of desperate parents who simply cannot come to terms with their children’s death? Or nothing more than wishful thinking? Are we feeding ourselves the lore of angels and reincarnation to ease the excruciating pain? Or might we be onto something? Might life (and death) be more than what we have imagined?
We seek council from priests, rabbis, gurus, psychics, psychologists, and mediums to deepen our understanding and bridge our connection to the “other” world. Torn between despair and hope, how can we be sure what is true? The knowing that comes from philosophy, beliefs, concepts, and religions is now sufficient. We need a direct experience of truth we can feel and trust.
Perhaps a bereaved dad said it best when asked, “Where do you believe your son is?” He responded, “In the absence of 100% proof, what I believe is ultimately a matter of choice. My heart tells me that my son is an angel. That he is with me always.”
When asked, I tell people my daughter Jenna is alive in me. Risking what many of my colleagues would consider to be delusional or magical thinking. I choose to interpret those incredibly wise, endearing, or pee-in-your-pants funny Jennaisms I “hear” as really Jenna. I choose to talk to her, to listen for her daily, and to delight in the joy of her.
If I am wrong, I will have been a wishful, brokenhearted fool who deluded himself. If I am right, then Jenna, and I have miraculously reached across the veil that separates life and death and touched one another’s heart as we did so gloriously in life.
I bet my faith.
Ken Druck, Ph.D.
© 1999 Heart Sense [Hope], a newsletter of The Jenna Druck Foundation. All rights reserved.
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